


One Lump Or Two?

by papercutperfect



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercutperfect/pseuds/papercutperfect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The metal spoon lifted free, coated in dripping red. Erik watched, mouth slack, as Charles brought it to his lips. A pointed, pink tongue slid out, swiped a long path through that sticky liquid. Blue eyes fluttered shut in delight, the long line of his pale throat shifting in a deep swallow.</p><p>[Vampire AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Lump Or Two?

It was the smell that drew him, as it always was. Rich and heady perfume, that underlying twist of sweet copper; blood.

Erik’s stomach growled, a thirsty pull at the back of his throat.

Somewhere in the apartment, blood had been spilled. A heart still beating, the drumming of electric pulse in the air told him that much, though something about it smelt different somehow.

Maybe Charles had finally given in to the starving cries of his belly and taken a victim all of his own - it was about damn time, if that was the case. Erik was beginning to grow a little weary of watching him drink cold blood from a teacup, often sharing the elder vampire’s meals. Erik wasn’t normally one to share his food, but one flash of those imploring, ethereal eyes and he soon found himself saving the juiciest of arteries for Charles.

If he wasn’t immortal already, that man would have been the death of him.

The others had scoffed at Erik for turning the young professor. Emma especially, had regarded Charles with cold eyes and a skeptical twist to her lips. None of them seemed to see what Erik did: beneath the frumpy cardigans and stack of academic papers, lay an overwhelmingly dark power. Erik could smell it simmering there - the man could be one of the strongest immortals to ever walk the planet, if only he would rid himself of those restricting human morals.

So far, there hadn’t been much change. Charles still craved the sunlight, wrapped himself in voluminous scarfs and gloves to guard against the chill of eternal night. He spent many nights reading, ignoring the hungry rumbles of his stomach and declining Erik’s offers to hunt. He spoke to humans on the street as if they were equal, as if they couldn’t see the spark of feral light in his eyes or the porcelain sheen to his skin.

That was another reason Erik had turned Charles, though he wasn’t quite ready to admit that to himself; the man was beautiful. Achingly so. Lips so red Erik had almost thought him a vampire already, one fresh from the blood-stain of a kill. Paler than snow, waves of chocolate brown hair that shone with changing color even in the moonlight. Beauty like that deserved to be preserved forever.

Anyway. Back to the task at hand.

Sniffing the thick, hovering scent, Erik followed the trail with a stealthy gait to his walk, a silent creep he’d long perfected. Through the living room, past the bathroom, not in Charles’ room - where then?

Ah, of course. The kitchen.

Carefully pushing open the door, Erik stopped in his tracks. Blue-grey eyes stared in stone-faced shock at the sight of Charles stood beside the stove, gently stirring a small saucepan. The metal spoon lifted free, coated in dripping red - oh _hell_ no.

Erik watched, mouth slack, as Charles brought it to his lips. A pointed, pink tongue slid out, swiped a long path through that sticky liquid. Blue eyes fluttered shut in delight, the long line of his pale throat shifting in a deep swallow.

Twin pinpricks on his neck, scared and dark against acres of white.

“Charles. What on earth are you doing?”

Charles dropped the spoon with a yelp of guilty surprise, the utensil clattering to the floor. Red flecks across the laminate.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” the younger vampire straightened his jacket in a grasp for some kind of dignity, clearly unsure what to do with his hands as they flitted from slim hips to the edge of the stove, raked through floppy brown hair.

“… Are you _reheating blood_?”

A stubbornly stiff shrug, “And what if I am?”

Erik laughed; a loud, genuine laugh, the kind that caused his head to tip back, displayed elongated canines. The kind not many were granted the honor of witnessing, “You will never cease to amaze me. Another blood bag stolen from the hospital, I presume?”

“You presume wrong,” Charles bent to pick up the spoon, tossing it into the sink. Erik arched an amused eyebrow, stepping further into the room. Early evening, only just past sunset - the smudge of watercolor orange and red on the horizon hurt his eyes.

“Leftovers, then? Have you been storing Tupperware boxes of blood on your shelf in the fridge?”

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Charles gave him a pointed, sour look before turning back to the stove. He flicked off the heat, paused to inhale that mouth-watering essence of warm, glittering life. Even Erik was starting to wonder if he could pull off the puppy eyes as well as Charles did; it smelled delicious.

“I don’t understand you, Charles,” Erik watched his friend take a china teacup and saucer from the overhead cupboard, sluice the crimson liquid inside. Not a drop wasted, not one spill on the eggshell blue pattern, “Such immense power, possibly more than any I’ve met and all in one so young. Yet still you insist on blood packs and leftovers, a shadow of the immortal you could become.”

A slender hand closed around Charles’ wrist before he could bring the cup to his lips. “You will need to kill eventually, Charles. What if I’m not here, or you get caught while sneaking from a hospital. Will you have the guts to give in to your nature?”

Charles rolled his eyes, a wicked smile tugging the corner of his lips, “You talk too much. Now eat up, before your share goes cold.”

For the first time, Erik noticed the third person in the room.

So stunned by Charles’ peculiar actions, Erik had forgotten to push for the source of that thin heartbeat. There, slumped at the circular corner table they’d bought together from Ikea, was a man. Tall, blond, nondescript. A bandage around his wrist stained wet and red, still glistening and fresh. Barely alive, but there, warm and waiting.

Erik turned wide, disbelieving eyes to Charles, who merely winked and gently pulled his arm free, touched the teacup to his smiling lips.

A return smile, slow and proud.

 _Devil._


End file.
